


darling, stand by me

by caniculeo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Apocalypse, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, peaceful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caniculeo/pseuds/caniculeo
Summary: The end of the world is pretty much what you’d expect it to be.on finally coming home, together.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 165





	darling, stand by me

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by [@anta_baka00's](https://twitter.com/anta_baka00) beautiful painting, which you can see [here](https://twitter.com/anta_baka00/status/1309483293713166338?s=20). i stared at it, cried, and then my brain went bRRR 
> 
> please read the tags, but know that despite everything, this is a very gentle fic. the mcd is only implied, but i wanted to tag it just in case.
> 
> title from [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/5XSU59wtE5CRCAEyHmmGy4?si=qsVvtzZERPqBxJTofVhpGg). i recommend listening to sleeping at last's [saturn](https://open.spotify.com/track/3tJjZMHLqhD8DaGgdBICnc?si=UMximMV2S-mpH9tNTMt7RQ), mostly for the second half of the fic, but it's up to you! :D

_I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things._

The end of the world is pretty much what you’d expect it to be. 

Chaotic. Horrifying. Devastating. After a while, a little lonely. And after a longer while, almost mundane. It’s surprising, Atsumu muses, how quickly people adapt to things, even if that thing is the apocalypse. Then again, the ones who don’t are probably dead. 

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu says, nudging Sakusa with his elbow. “Are we almost there yet?”

“Almost, I think,” Sakusa says. “A few kilometers left.” 

“That’s not _almost_ ,” Atsumu says petulantly.

“Don’t whine,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu glares at him. Sakusa stops walking, holding out the water canteen, and Atsumu takes it gratefully, unscrews the top and drinks in measured gulps. “We’ll get there when we get there.” 

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Atsumu says, handing back the water. “Just lie to me next time and say it’s around the corner.” 

“Then you’ll whine when you find out it’s not,” Sakusa says, not missing a beat. 

Atsumu huffs, because he can’t quite refute that. He’s tempted to make a jab at Sakusa, but then Sakusa reaches out and takes his hand wordlessly. And—well, call him whipped or whatever, but Atsumu’s rather easy to please when it comes to things like that. So he swallows down his insult and interlaces their fingers, and they walk on amiably towards their destination. Despite everything, Atsumu finds himself smiling. 

It’s been more than a year since they’d left home during the evacuation, since the world had fallen to pieces. They’ve lost and lost along the way, family and friends and everyone in between. Atsumu hasn’t heard from Osamu or his parents since everything went to shit, and the same goes for Sakusa and his family. Neither of them say a word about what this might mean. They focus on themselves, on living in a world that wants them to die so badly that Atsumu can practically taste it. 

_Whatever happens_ , Sakusa had said, when everything was starting to fall apart, _we stay together,_ and they have. Maybe that’s how they’re still alive—Atsumu knows they’re one of the few who are. The two of them haven’t seen another living person in what seems like months, haven’t received a radio signal since winter melted into spring. It’s getting harder and harder to find food and water and safety. Where they’re headed now is their last hope. 

There is no way for them to go but forwards, hand in hand, into the uncertain future. 

“Let’s stop for the night,” Sakusa says, glancing at the setting sun. “I don’t think we’ll make it there today.” 

So they find high ground and set up a makeshift camp. Atsumu starts a small fire, boils some water and warms a can of food, and then they eat together, taking turns to spoon the salty, processed goop. It’s a familiar routine by now, almost calming. 

“You can finish it, Omi,” Atsumu says, when they’re halfway done. “I’m not hungry.” He’s lying. He’s so hungry even the aluminum looks good. But Sakusa, for all his stamina, has been losing weight recently, his cheekbones sharper than usual, his wrists almost bony. 

Sakusa knows that Atsumu’s lying, of course. But he doesn’t object, just nods his thanks and finishes the food. Atsumu tries not to watch him eat—he’ll probably drool or do something equally embarrassing. If it came down to it, he’d starve any day if it meant Sakusa could live, but his body can’t help being a body. So Atsumu takes the map out of Sakusa’s bag to distract himself, and stares at it in the firelight: all the pen marks showing the paths they’ve taken, the last one they’ve yet to take, the red Xs that mark _danger, danger, stay away_ , scattered thickly across the paper like deadly snowflakes. Atsumu can barely see the name of their old city under all the red. He closes the map. 

“Do you think Hinata will be there?” he asks absently. “It’s close to his old apartment.” 

“Maybe,” Sakusa says. He sets aside the empty can. “Wouldn’t bet on it, though.” 

Atsumu understands. They know better by now than to bet on life, on anything good. “Well,” he says. “It’d be nice, anyways. To see someone we know.” He yawns widely, his exhaustion catching up to him.

Sakusa doesn’t miss anything. “Sleep first,” he says. 

“No, it’s fine—”

“Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice is unyielding, and Atsumu sighs, resigned. 

“Fine,” he says. “But don’t get all pissy if I don’t wake up right away.”

“I would never,” Sakusa says flatly, and it’s a testament to their relationship that Atsumu can tell he’s joking. He pats the ground next to him. “Come here already.”

Atsumu grins and shifts over so that they’re flush against each other. He leans his head against Sakusa’s chest, and Sakusa puts an arm around his shoulders. 

“You’ve worked hard,” Sakusa murmurs, his voice as low and gentle as the fire. He’s always softer in the night, warmer. “Rest.”

Atsumu grins sleepily. “Keep that up and you’ll give me a boner.” 

Sakusa sighs in disdain, rolls his eyes. “Sometimes, I wish you’d just… stop talking.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu says, amused. “I know.” He shifts, making himself more comfortable.“Night, Omi.”

“Goodnight, Atsumu.”

Atsumu closes his eyes as Sakusa begins to hum, a wordless little song that sounds a bit like a lullaby. He does this every night, ever since Atsumu had gone two days without sleep in the beginning of it all—his voice is surprisingly rich, the vibration through his chest soft and soothing. 

Atsumu listens, and he sleeps.

He wakes to the faint scent of strawberries. It’s dark, the moon cold and pale in the sky, and Sakusa is shaking him. 

“Atsumu, wake up,” Sakusa hisses. “Wake up, it’s gonna be here, it’s coming—”

Atsumu is awake in an instant. “Shit,” he says. “My stuff, do you—” 

Sakusa passes him his bag, and they take off running. Atsumu is still a little unsteady on his legs, stumbling once or twice, so Sakusa takes his hand and they sprint together blindly in the dark. Atsumu allows himself a glance behind them, sees the almost luminous fog rolling in, shimmering in the dark. Smelling of strawberries. He runs faster. 

His lungs are burning by the time they finally stop, and he needs to double over to breathe, sweaty and exhausted. They lean on each other while they catch their breath. 

It’s funny, Atsumu muses grimly—as he sometimes does—that the end of the world smells like strawberries and looks like a cloud at sunset. It comes only at night and kills in minutes, indiscriminately and quietly. Painlessly, some say: a small mercy. It burns too, turns into fire when it’s concentrated, decimates buildings and fields and forests with red flame and strawberry smoke. 

Why strawberries? Why something so familiar and comforting and everyday? It’s a cruel joke of the universe, Atsumu supposes. All that randomness and chaos ending up in a punchline that is everything dying to the smell of strawberries. Not them, though. Not today. 

“Fuck,” Atsumu says, when he can speak again. “That was close.” 

“It’s okay,” Sakusa pants, staring out into the distance. His chest heaves. “I think we lost it.” 

“No fire?”

“No fire.” 

“Good,” Atsumu says, sliding down against a tree, “because I’m not moving ever _again_.”

Sakusa sits down next to him, making a sound of agreement. They split what’s left of the water, and then Sakusa lays his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, eyes half-closed. He must be exhausted. Atsumu feels something inside his chest clench, with affection and gratefulness and all those things that love is made up of. He kisses Sakusa softly on the top of his head.

Sakusa’s straightens up, eyes opening slightly. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Atsumu asks, amused. 

“Well, no,” Sakusa says, “but it feels like there was one.” 

Atsumu shrugs. “You’ve worked hard,” he says. 

Sakusa huffs. “So have you,” he says, and presses his lips against Atsumu’s. Atsumu grins into it. 

“Sleep,” he orders, when they break apart. “It’s your turn.” 

Sakusa does not protest. He rests his head on Atsumu’s shoulder again, eyes fluttering closed. His breathing evens out a bit, but then he speaks.

“I miss the dog,” he says, quiet. 

Atsumu’s breath catches with sudden pain. “Me too,” he murmurs. “She was a good dog.” 

They’d found her months ago, during the winter. She’d been friendly even at the get-go—wagging tail and lolling tongue—definitely someone’s old pet. _No,_ Sakusa had said to her, when she started following them around, _no, go home_ , but then the words had caught in his throat as he realized that none of them could do that anymore. So instead, he’d said, _we can’t name her, we’ll get attached_ , but that’d proven to be moot—they’d gotten attached, anyways. Of course they had, and it’d been lovely. For a while, they’d been happy, truly happy. 

But then the fog had rolled in one night when they were both exhausted from traversing a mountain, and it’d set the forest aflame. The dog had tried to wake them through the smoke, alternately dragging them and barking furiously, and when they’d finally awoken in a thick haze of strawberry, the three of them ran for their lives. Once they’d made it to safety, she’d curled up out of exhaustion and slept. In the morning, she didn’t wake up. 

They’d buried her in a field of withered wildflowers. Atsumu had cried for days after that, the pain and sorrow bone-deep. He’d almost folded, given up. But Sakusa had dragged him to his feet every morning and forced him to eat, had even carried Atsumu on his own back when he couldn’t take another step forward. 

Atsumu still hasn’t thanked him for it. But then again, he doesn’t really need to. This is how they work, now: _your life is mine, and mine is yours_. Anyways, he’s sure Sakusa knows, even without Atsumu saying anything. Sakusa always knows. 

The fog forces them off-course a bit, but they still find their way to the base by noon the next day. Even before they step inside the building—an old hospital—it’s pretty obvious that something is wrong. 

In the old camps and bases they’d been at, there had always been the sounds of life, of people laughing and arguing, of someone playing music, of children playing, blissfully oblivious to the times they were growing up in. But here, there is nothing but eerie silence. 

The inside of the building is just as quiet as the outside. Together, they walk down the main hall, the sound of their footsteps loud and echoing in the silence. Atsumu pauses to stare at a bulletin board, covered in a few sheets of paper: one of them is a weekly meal schedule, another one a news notice. Someone’s carved a heart into the board, complete with initials and all, and Atsumu feels the corner of his mouth quirk up. Sakusa has wandered away a little, into one of the wings. Atsumu hears him open a door, hears the door slam shut almost immediately. 

Sakusa fairly runs back towards him. The look on his face alone is almost enough to bring Atsumu to tears, but Atsumu forces himself not to cry. They take turns being the strong one—neither of them would survive otherwise. And today it is Atsumu’s turn, so he draws Sakusa close, places his hand on his nape to ground him. He can feel Sakusa shaking, can feel the wetness of his tears against his shoulder. 

“The people, they’re all—” Sakusa’s voice, usually so composed, is hoarse and shaky. Atsumu’s heart breaks to hear him like this. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Atsumu murmurs, trying to keep his own voice steady. He’s not particularly surprised, had suspected it from the silence and stillness, but it’s a blow nonetheless. “Omi, it’s alright. I’m here.” 

Sakusa is holding him so tightly that it hurts, but Atsumu does not complain, does not struggle. They’re all they have to hold on to, now. 

“Are you okay?” Atsumu asks, after a few moments.

Sakusa lets go of him, nods. Atsumu kisses him softly on the cheek. 

“Stay here,” he says. “Give me your bag. I’ll get us some supplies.” Sakusa looks like he’s about to protest, so Atsumu adds, “I won’t go far—I’ll call if I need you.” 

He goes deeper into the hospital, finds water and food, and he packs what he can into their bags along with some medicine. He finds some hand sanitizer too, and shoves it into the side pocket of Sakusa’s pack. Sakusa had—with great difficulty—given up on cleanliness a few months into their journey, but he never passes up a chance at it either. Hopefully, this’ll cheer him up a little. 

The bodies he finds are mostly in the patients’ wings. The people had died in their sleep, as per usual. A short while ago, judging by the lack of smell. Perhaps some of them had run—a good portion of the beds are empty. But where would they run to, if the fog has crept all the way up here, the last stronghold of the country? Where would they go? 

Atsumu tries not to think about it. He comforts himself in the fact that he does not see Hinata among the dead, and returns to Sakusa. 

At night, they lie next to each other under the open sky, neither of them wanting to stay inside the hospital. Atsumu is full for the first time in weeks, and he looks up at the shimmering swathes of stars in the dark. It almost feels like he could reach up and run his fingers through them, and they’d coat his skin like glitter. They’re so bright, so beautiful. What right do they have to be so beautiful at a time like this? But then again, perhaps it’s a small mercy that for all the ugliness on earth, the stars are still there for them to marvel at, to love. 

“Where do we go now?” Sakusa asks, quiet. 

Well, isn’t that the question. This had been their last resort, their promised land. They could stay here for a bit, if they need it—there are resources to spare—but neither of them want to, Atsumu knows. And the map is covered in red. There is nowhere left to run. 

“Where do you wanna go?” Atsumu asks anyway.

A moment of silence. “I don’t know,” Sakusa eventually says, voice quiet. He pauses. “I just—I’m tired of running. I’m so tired.” His voice breaks. “I want to go home, Atsumu.” 

_Ah,_ Atsumu thinks. _Home_. Where the fog strikes almost nightly, creeping under doors and into windows. Where not a single soul is left. Where the two of them began. Truth be told, Atsumu wants to go home, too. Has wanted it for a long time. And now—well, they’ve fought hard and long, even if just to lose. They’ve done their duty to themselves and their broken world. It’s time they rested. 

“Alright then,” Atsumu says. He kisses Sakusa’s forehead. “Let’s go home.” 

The journey back to their city takes a couple of days. Thankfully, the fog never strikes as they’re on their way, perhaps the universe allowing them a dignified defeat. 

They’re no strangers to empty cities at this point, but it’s a little jarring when it’s their own. Atsumu sees the park on the corner of their street, ashen and dry from fire, and remembers the laughter of children who once played there. The convenience store that sold Sakusa’s favourite ice cream. The alley behind it, once populated by what seemed like an entire clan of cats, none of which allowed Atsumu to come near despite all his coaxing and bribes of food. 

But then they make it to their apartment, and Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat. Their first apartment, and also their last. Atsumu remembers everything so, so vividly: Sakusa, nonchalant aside from a slight tremor in his voice, asking him, _want to move in together?_ The house hunting, the small arguments about bathrooms and kitchens and other stupid things. And then the actual moving in—tiring and chaotic and filled with laughter, Osamu and Bokuto and Hinata dropping by to help. 

That’d been years ago, now. They’d settled into domestic bliss laughably quickly, though it’d taken them both a while to get used to each other. Sakusa isn’t the easiest person to live with, and Atsumu knows that he himself isn’t, either. But they’d made it work, and now that he thinks about it, it’d all been so wonderful: waking up to each other, eating every meal together. Having sex in ridiculous places like the kitchen, Sakusa regretting it immediately after. Learning how to dance on a dare. Arguing about stupid things and making up. And perhaps best of all, falling asleep together, warm and entwined. 

In another life, they’d have grown old together, perhaps adopted a few dogs. Maybe, they’d even have gotten married. But—well, this is what they have now, and Atsumu supposes that despite the pain, despite everything they’ve been through, it is beautiful in its own way. After all, they’re still together, aren’t they? Even the end of the world couldn’t tear them apart. 

The door is unlocked; they enter easily. Almost everything is as it once was, save for a thick layer of dust on every surface. If the lights still worked, if they cleaned, it’d truly feel like they were in the past again. For a moment, they are both almost breathless. And then Sakusa takes off his backpack, sets it on the ground. 

“We’re home,” he says, to nobody in particular. 

“We’re home,” Atsumu echoes, and smiles. “Let’s eat,” he says to Sakusa. “I’m hungry.”

By the time they finish dinner, the sun is setting, painting the sky a fiery red. The clouds turn scarlet, as bright as the small fires that still burn the buildings outside their window, perhaps remnants of last night’s fog. Sakusa gets up from the kitchen table, stands by the window to look out. His expression is calm, though perhaps a little sad. 

“Hey,” Atsumu says, and Sakusa turns. Atsumu grins, holds up his phone—it’s pretty much just been their emergency flashlight since cellular communications had gone down. “You wanna?” 

Sakusa blinks, bemused, and then he gets it. Almost shyly, he nods. 

There is the slightest bit of battery left when the phone is turned on. Atsumu picks one of their favourite songs, slow and sweet, and—oh, he’d forgotten how wonderful it was to listen to music like this. Sakusa’s arms are already outstretched, expectant, and Atsumu goes to him. He takes Sakusa’s hand, puts his own on Sakusa’s shoulder. 

They’re both a little awkward for want of practice, but it’s fine, it’s all fine—Atsumu laughs when Sakusa steps on his feet, and Sakusa smiles when they bump their heads together. God, Atsumu realizes, it’s been so long since he’s laughed like this, free and unrestrained. It feels like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders. It feels like he and Sakusa are the only two people in the whole entire world, that their world is no bigger than their small, beloved apartment. It feels like happiness, pure and simple and true. 

Outside, their city burns. The song plays on. They pause for a second while Sakusa looks down at their feet, having mixed up his steps. 

“It goes like this,” Atsumu says, stepping backward and to the side, and Sakusa follows him hesitantly, brow furrowed in concentration. And then he finds his rhythm again, smooth and familiar. 

“There, see?” Atsumu says. “You remember.” 

Sakusa smiles, bright and soft. “I remember,” he says. 

He looks beautiful here, bathed in the warm light of fire, of the end of all things. Beautiful and genuine and kind. Atsumu looks at Sakusa, and he loves. He feels himself overflow with the force of it, tears coming to fall warm down his cheeks. 

Sakusa pauses. “Don’t cry now,” he says, unbelievably gentle. Fond. “Atsumu.”

“No, I’m—” Atsumu laughs, watery. He presses his forehead to Sakusa’s. “I’m crying,” he says, “because I’m happy.”

Later, when they settle into bed, it almost feels like this is a night just like any other, back when the biggest things on Atsumu’s mind had been what he’d eat for dinner, or which stupid, ugly sweater to buy Sakusa for Christmas. Atsumu lays his head softly on Sakusa’s chest, and Sakusa puts an arm around his shoulder in turn. Already, there is the faint scent of strawberries in the air. But they simply hold each other in the dark, silent aside for the soft sounds of their breathing, and Atsumu is not afraid. 

“Night, Omi,” he says. 

A soft exhale. “Goodnight, Atsumu.” 

Sakusa pulls Atsumu closer to him, and begins to hum—a beautiful sound, now and forever. Slowly, Atsumu feels his heart settle. He smiles, and closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i cried while writing this and had a lot of fun. this is my first sakuatsu fic, and i hope i could do them justice. 
> 
> quote from the return of the king!


End file.
